Yesterday
by leaysaye
Summary: How do you rebuild your life after a war at the end of the world? Major spoilers for the comics! The story is set in the same "universe" as "There's No Waking From The Horror" (which is pure rickyl), but it's not necessary to know those stories (though it'll help later). Aaron/Eric, Aaron/Jesus, Rick/Daryl, slash
1. Chapter 1

_Alexandria Safe Zone, Virginia, 2012_

The first day of spring. The air is crisp enough to make Jesus shiver as he steps from the corner house. He blows on his hands, squinting into the clean, bright sunshine of a new day.

Last night it was too late to knock anywhere but on Rick's door. Jesus knows most of the other Alexandrians by sight, but the only real bond he has formed is with Rick and Daryl.

They were glad to see him, and Jesus spent a good evening with the Georgia lot. Everyone who is at home at any given time still comes together for most evening meals. After dinner, they'd sat in the living room, swapping Hilltop stories and Alexandria gossip. Jesus passed around Polaroids of Maggie's little boy. Daryl's eyes misted over as he looked down at the pictures, and Rick came to sit by his side. He whispered something in Daryl's ear, and briefly brought their foreheads together in a private moment of grief. Then Michonne placed Judith in Daryl's lap, and soon everyone was laughing at the little girl's amusing utterances. Even Daryl was smiling again, and Jesus's chest filled with fondness for them all.

Over the last few months Alexandria has become the place to settle, partly because the houses are comfortable and spacious, partly because of its position, almost exactly halfway between the Kingdom and Hilltop.

The corner house has always been full, but now all of its five bedrooms have near-permanent occupants: Rick and Daryl share the master bedroom, Carl shares with Judith when she's not sleeping in Michonne's room, Tara and Rosita opting to occupy one large twin room rather than being alone. And the smallest bedroom, where Jesus slept the last few times he came down, is now Enid's permanent residence.

Jesus didn't mind sleeping on the sofa, and he knows nobody else minded coming across him first thing in the morning on the way to the coffee maker. Rick was the first one down, and he and Jesus discussed over their Colombian Roast a matter that has been giving Rick sleepless nights.

So here Jesus is, making his way down the porch steps and across the street. He's soon climbing the stairs to the building diagonally across from the corner house. He stops short, hand already raised to knock on the door, when he notices with a thrill that it is slightly ajar. He looks up and down the sleepy street. There is nobody around.

As he scans the parked cars in front of the house he sees that the boot on Aaron's car is open. He frowns, finally knocks, then slowly pushes the door wider.

"Hello?" he calls into the house. There's no reply. He doesn't feel too guilty when he begins a quick sweep of the downstairs. These days, safety comes before curtesy.

The house is smaller than the Georgians', but it's too big for Aaron by himself. After what has happened, though, nobody wants to crowd him, so he's left alone. Rick doesn't think that's right, and Jesus agrees.

When he returns to the hallway after checking all the rooms Aaron is just clunking down the stairs, carrying two heavy suitcases. He nearly overbalances, and catches himself just in time. The suitcases hit the tiled hallway with a crash.

"Hey…," Jesus says, feeling both awkward and curious, intruding on this scene. "Sorry… I knocked. The door was open."

Aaron is breathing hard. He straightens up, his gaze on Jesus not exactly friendly. "What do you want?" He sounds tired, and not pleased about the visitor.

Jesus hesitates. He has a feeling that Rick's plan won't go down as well as they'd hoped. Instead of replying he points at the luggage. "Want a hand? These look heavy."

Aaron shrugs. Without a word, he picks up one of the suitcases and heads out the door. Jesus takes the other one and follows. He was right; the suitcase seems to weigh about a ton.

They get them both loaded into the trunk of Aaron's car. There are already a couple of bags on the backseat.

Jesus holds back all his questions until he's followed Aaron back into the house. Then he asks, "What are you doing, Aaron?"

The other man stops halfway into the kitchen, shoulders hunched and head down. Then he goes over to the fridge and takes out two beers. He holds one out to Jesus. "Want one?"

"It's nine a.m.," Jesus says.

Aaron's eyes are flat. "That a no?" He shrugs, and opens both bottles anyway.

Jesus stays in the doorway to the kitchen while Aaron drinks off half of the first bottle. He notices the dark shadows under Aaron's eyes, and the stubble covering his face. His clothes look like he's slept in them for several nights.

Aaron catches him looking and lowers the bottle. "What do you want?" he asks again.

Jesus considers. How should he approach this? It's clear that Aaron needs help, but also that he won't just accept it. He decides on part of the truth, for now. "I came over to ask if I could stay in your spare room when I come to Alexandria," he says, matter of fact. "The corner house is full to the rafters, and Alexandria is filling up. It's just too conveniently located."

Aaron looks at him with narrowed eyes, then laughs softly. There's no humor in it. "Clever, really," he murmurs, mostly to himself. He takes another swig of beer.

"What's that?" Jesus prompts.

"Let's send the gay guy to comfort the other gay guy." Aaron's tone is flat. "Maybe they'll hook up, then we don't need to feel so guilty."

Jesus's heart is full of sorrow for the other man. If he were in Aaron's shoes he'd probably react the same way. After a moment he says softly, "Rick suggested it himself."

For a moment there's doubt in Aaron's eyes, and guilt. Then his eyes grow hard. "So, because our dear leader has decided he prefers dick over pussy in his old age, he's now our queer savior of the apocalypse, is he?"

"Aaron," Jesus begins. But Aaron shakes his head and turns away. He leans on the central counter top in the middle of the room and lowers his head. After a moment, his shoulders begin to shake. He's crying. Jesus slowly walks over to him.

"We didn't mean anything by it," Jesus says. He reaches up and places a hand lightly on Aaron's shoulder. "I just needed somewhere to stay, and you got space. If it's not convenient, I'll find someplace else."

Aaron straightens up, but doesn't shake off Jesus's hand. He wipes his eyes. "No, of course you can stay." He shakes his head. "Dunno what's going on with me sometimes." His voice sounds hollow, and terribly tired.

"C'mon, sit down," Jesus suggests, and tugs Aaron towards the table. Aaron comes willingly, and drops into a chair.

"You eaten any breakfast yet?" Jesus asks. Aaron shakes his head and Jesus sighs. "I'll rustle something up, then."

He goes over to the stove. On the way, he collects the beer bottles and empties them in the sink.

"I was still drinking those," Aaron mutters, and puts his head in his hands.

"No, you weren't," Jesus says, and starts pulling plates and a pan from the cupboards.

He makes Aaron eggs and pancakes with maple syrup, and brews them both coffee. They sit silently, while Aaron tucks into his breakfast. Jesus watches him, wondering when he last ate.

When Aaron puts down his knife and fork at last, he looks up. "I'm sorry I was being a dick."

Jesus shrugs. "Never mind. Now, tell me what we were loading into your car."

Aaron stares down at the grease on his plate. His eyes are filling with tears. "His things," he whispers.

For now, Jesus says nothing. Being silent is something he learned from his Sensei, the same way he learned Aikido. _Listen_ , Uedo used to say to him. _Listen, and be still. They talk, when they are ready._ His grandmaster was a wise man. Sometimes, Jesus wonders what it's like in Japan now.

"I…I don't know what to do with them," Aaron continues eventually. "I should put them in with our supplies. It's a waste, not using them. But I can't stand the thought of…of someone else walking around, wearing his clothes." His voice breaks. "I was gonna dump them in the woods…"

The tears are coming freely now. Jesus gets up and finds tissues in a kitchen drawer. He takes them over to Aaron, then waits, a hand on the other man's arm.

At last all the tears are spent. Jesus clears the table, stashing the dirty dishes by the sink. He soaks the pan, then turns around. "I know what we'll do. C'mon."

Aaron follows him, a puzzled look on his face. They walk across the street but instead of making for the corner house, Jesus walks down the narrow alley between it and its neighbor. He quickly disappears into the back door, and comes back with two shovels. He beckons Aaron to follow.

Not far from Denise's grave he stops. "How's this?"

Aaron glances at the corner house, not twenty yards away. Jesus doesn't blame Aaron for the way he's feeling, even though he's in the wrong. "Eric wouldn't want you to hold a grudge, y'know," he says quietly. Aaron gives him a look, eyes red rimmed and distant. But then he sighs.

"It's a good spot."

They start digging. After a few minutes, the back door of the corner house opens. Daryl appears, carrying another shovel. The three of them make good progress, and the hole is big enough before the sun is cresting.

Jesus straightens up and wipes the sweat off his face. Despite the chill air he's feeling hot. His eyes fall on the corner house again. Rick is standing in the back door, watching. His and Jesus's eyes meet. When Aaron clambers out of the hole and straightens up, Rick disappears into the house.

"Let's get Eric's things," Jesus says to Aaron and Daryl.

As they carry the bags and suitcases from Aaron's car, Carl, Tara and Michonne appear. Michonne is holding Judith. Aaron opens the first suitcase, then climbs back into the hole. Jesus and Daryl take turns, handing Aaron Eric's clothes, books and personal effects. Aaron stacks them carefully, making use of all the space. Towards the end, when the hole is nearly full, the lay Aaron's collection of number plates on top of the last resting place of Eric Raleigh's worldly possessions.

Michonne steps forward and holds Judith out to Aaron. "You've done enough. Let us help."

Tears are running down Aaron's face again, but he takes the little girl. He and Jesus watch as Carl, Tara and Michonne cover the grave with soil. Daryl briefly disappears, then returns with two pieces of flat wood, some string, and paint. Within a few minutes, he has fashioned a cross with Eric's name on it.

With no body to bury, there had been no real release for Aaron for five long months. When Michonne has patted down the last shovel of soil, and Daryl places the cross on top of the mount, Aaron staggers over to the back steps of the corner house. He sits down hard, rocking himself and Judith, mourning his lover all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

_Liberia, Montserrado province, 2003_

The first time he meets Aaron, Eric has his arm inside a cow. The fascinated, slightly queasy look on the tall, handsome stranger's face makes him laugh.

"Are you a vet?" he asks, knowing the answer but enjoying the teasing enormously.

"Uh, no…" The man can't look away from the cow, who is now writhing in the last throes of her labor pains. "I…err…I'm looking for the hospital administration?"

Eric lifts his chin in the general direction of the outside staircase on the hospital building. "Up there. Turn left at the top of the stairs, last door along the balcony." He pats the cow's behind with his free hand, trying to get her to shift a bit more. "Benny," he says to a wiry boy of eight who is crouching by his side. "Show the gentleman, please."

The boy jumps to his feet and motions at the stranger to follow him. The man gives Eric a grateful nod, then throws the cow a last, concerned look and follows Benny, who starts peppering him with questions.

Eric's attention is drawn back to the task at hand as the cow bellows once in distress, just before the calf slips out with a gush of amniotic fluid, soaking Eric's knees and lower legs. He sighs and gets to his feet as the animal begins to right herself.

"Who is this, _namee_?" Otto, another of Eric's eager students, asks curiously.

The cow turns and begins to lick her scrawny calf dry. Eric retrieves a towel that's hanging from a low branch on the tree they're sheltering under and wipes his arm the best he can. One of the boys can stay with the animals until the calf is strong enough for the short journey back to Koon Town, where someone undoubtedly will claim it and its mother.

Eric glances at the stranger's retreating back. He is now climbing the stairs behind Benny.

"No idea," he says to Otto, then beckons at the half-dozen kids surrounding him. "Go get a bucket of water for the poor mother, she's had a hard birth!"

#

At lunchtime, he and the newcomer enter the dining hall at almost exactly the same time. Eric looks up as he stops at the end of the queue and realizes the new guy is right in front of him. The man is even taller than Eric had thought out in the yard; he easily tops six foot. Eric finds himself staring at the other's broad shoulders, clad in a black T-shirt, and at the light brown hair curling at the nape of his neck. He blushes and hastily looks down at the food in the trays they're now inching past.

Suddenly, the newcomer slaps his own arm hard, cursing under his breath. When he takes his hand away there's a red smudge on his skin, and a dead mosquito.

"T-shirts aren't recommended," Eric says. The stranger looks at him, and Eric lifts his own arms, which are covered by the sleeves of his loose linen shirt. "Long sleeves keep those suckers at bay."

"Yeah," the other man sighs. "I was told to bring long sleeves. Now I know why."

"You're on anti-malarials I hope?" Eric can't help it, his work follows him everywhere here.

The stranger nods. "Mefloquine, once a week. Still getting used to it, really." They shuffle a few feet forward. Before he accepts a tray from one of the servers the stranger holds out a hand. "I'm Aaron."

Eric takes the offered hand. Aaron's fingers are strong and warm. "Eric. Nice to meet you."

They each take their tray from the kitchen staff. Today it's fufu, and chicken and vegetable stew, and a slice of sweet potato pone for desert. Eric indicates for Aaron to take a bottle of water from the side of the counter. He takes one, too, then scans the bustling cafeteria for a couple of empty chairs. He finally spots two places at a table by the door.

"There's some space," he says to Aaron, who nods, and they make their way slowly through the throngs of hungry men and women.

"Hi, _namee_ ," Otto says, and waves. He has just joined the end of the queue.

"Hey, Otto," Eric replies. "Is your sister coming for her appointment later?"

"Yeah, she is," the boy says. "She's almost as big as that cow earlier!"

Eric laughs. "Good! She'll have a big, healthy baby."

He gives the boy a nod and leads the way over to the table. He and Aaron sit opposite from each other, next to a group of nurses chatting about the latest hospital gossip. Aaron glances around.

"Busy, huh?" he says.

"It's the shift change," Eric explains. "If you can, come a bit earlier. It's quieter, and sometimes the food is even hot."

Aaron carefully tries a piece of chicken. "Tastes fine, even luke-warm." He chews, then asks," So, you a vet, then?"

Eric grins. "Nah, just happened to be out there when she flopped down under the tree. I guess she wanted some shade. The calf hadn't turned, she must've been exhausted."

"How come you know your way around a cow's uterus?" Aaron asks, grinning.

"I grew up on a farm in Tennessee," Eric explains. "All organic, milk and dairy mostly." He glances around and lowers his voice as he continues, "Don't tell anyone, but I'd never done that before. Stick my arm up there, I mean."

Aaron laughs. "Your secret's safe with me. And anyway, you looked like you knew what you were doing. Pretty impressive." His blue eyes sparkle with admiration. "No wonder that boy called you _namee_. That means father, right?"

"Yeah, it does," Eric says, proud and a little wistful. "We had a little boy here a few months ago, Harry. His mom was training to be a health educator. They came from pretty far away, and he had no brothers and sisters, or grandma, to look after him. He was a bit too old for the hospital nursery, too, so the older kids took him under their wing. They follow me around after school. We encourage them, that way they hear about diseases early, and how to prevent them. Harry always had lots of questions. I liked him a lot. One day, he started calling me _namee_. His dad had died in an accident, and he said it was nice to have someone he could call that again, and that I was a good teacher, just like his dad." Eric looks down at his food, a lump in his throat. "It stuck, after that, even though it's silly."

"Not at all silly. That's a sweet memory," Aaron says quietly. "I'd like to meet Harry."

"He and his mom went back to their village in the South after she finished her training," Eric says. "I hope they're okay."

They eat in silence for a few minutes. It's not uncomfortable; Aaron just knows to give Eric some space to deal with the memories. Finally, he says. "The work you do here, it's incredible."

Eric shrugs. "We just pitch in where we can. There's always so much to do…"

"Still," Aaron says. "I admire you greatly. Are you a nurse, or a health worker?"

"Actually, I'm a botanist," Eric says with a laugh. "By training, anyway. I signed up with Doctors Without Borders, told them to send me where I'd be useful. Knowing about plants can be helpful here, when meds are scarce, or to treat people who got poisoned by them. Some alternative treatments work, some don't." He shrugs. "But really, I do whatever's needed. Mostly, I'm an assistant nurse."

"How long have you been here?"

"At the hospital, five months," Eric says. "Before that, a month for training in Monrovia. What brings you to Liberia? You're not a new volunteer, are you?"

Aaron's eyes are guarded now. "I'm attached to the peace negotiation. I'm really sorry, but I can't talk about it." And he looks sorry, too. "But Dr. Chopade is an old friend. He said to stop by if I'm coming this way."

"You just missed the chief," Eric says. "Dr. Chopade went to Monrovia this morning."

"Yeah." Aaron makes a face. "The head nurse told me. We must've passed on the road. Never mind. I'll wait for him to come back. My mission commander will pick me up from here in a few days."

"Have they sorted you out with a room yet?" Eric asks.

"Yeah, they found me one in the staff barracks," Aaron says.

The hospital staff live in a new, one-story breezeblock building behind the hospital. It's barely more than barracks, still without water and with intermittent electricity. It doesn't seem appropriate for someone assigned to a secret political mission. But Eric doesn't say that. Instead he offers, "Well, if you have any questions, find me, or any of the other staff." He gets up, holding his now empty tray. "Sorry, I have to get back. While I was busy with Bessie there we got a few new patients, and now I'm behind."

Aaron gets up, too. "Do you need another volunteer? I'm no great shakes with big livestock, but I can sweep a mean floor."

That's the moment Eric falls in love with Aaron.

#

Three days go by in which they don't talk much. Work at the hospital suddenly picks up when overnight the fighting between the rebels and the government soldiers becomes more than a distant rumor. The rainy season is in full swing, and Aaron is kept busy mopping muddy, bloody floors. When they once find themselves on a break at the same time, they go downstairs together for a rare cigarette, sheltering under the overhanging second-story balcony and staring at the torrential rain that's coming down each afternoon almost like clockwork.

"Is it always like this?" Aaron asks quietly after a while.

Eric glances at him. Aaron looks exhausted, and his eyes are pensive. "There aren't usually so many severed limbs, when all we get is sick villagers," he finally says. "This is a lot for someone who didn't even sign up for this. It's okay to slow down a bit, you know."

Aaron tosses the cigarette butt out into the rain and straightens up. "Nah," he says. "We pitch in where we can, right? Someone once told me that. C'mon, back to it."

They trudge back up the stairs to the surgical ward, which, really, is nothing more than a big, noisy, windowless room. For the rest of the day, and the day after that, they deal as best they can with the never-ending stream of wounded.

Late at night the next day, the torrent of new patients finally slows down. When Eric realizes that no freshly operated person has been brought onto the ward in over an hour, he finally decides to call it a day. He showers in the hospital's staff bathroom, puts on the first fresh shirt in over twenty-four hours, and makes his way out of the hospital.

He wants nothing more than a glass of wine and to stretch out in front of the TV, watching sitcom reruns until he falls asleep. Of course, that's impossible. He should probably get something to eat, but he finds that being surrounded by detached limbs and open body cavities all day doesn't really help his appetite. So he slowly walks around the building and into the second yard that separates the hospital from the staff barracks.

Aaron is sitting on the stoop outside the one-story building. He holds up two bottles of beer. "Thought you could use one, after today."

Eric's heart is suddenly beating fast. Aaron brought two bottles specifically to give him one, and he waited for Eric to finish work to drink with him. "Thanks," he says, his voice trembling a little with nerves. He sits down on the stoop next to Aaron and takes the beer. Then he asks, "How did you get on today?" He's been worrying more and more that Aaron, who hasn't even had the basic volunteer training, is overdoing things.

Aaron shrugs. "Getting used to it, I guess. The blood doesn't bother me so much, but the limbs, how they just hack them off in the OR and carry them away…" He shudders, and takes a swig from his bottle.

"You're incredible, you know that?" Eric says quietly, heart in his throat.

Aaron looks at him. "How so?"

"The way you just…"

"Begged to be given a mop and bucket and clean blood off the floors?" Aaron says with a half-grin.

"Yeah," Eric mumbles.

"Well, I had a reason, if you must know."

Eric thinks he knows where this is going, but he asks anyway. "And what was the reason?"

"I wanted to impress someone," Aaron murmurs, then leans over and kisses Eric.

It's almost midnight, and the yard is deserted. They're inside the compound of a UN hospital. But still, Eric pulls away.

"Not here," he says, and quickly gets up before Aaron can misunderstand his intention. "Better go somewhere private."

He holds out a hand. Aaron takes it, and pulls himself to his feet. "My room?" Eric asks. Aaron nods.

They make their way down the gloomy corridor only weakly illuminated by one naked light bulb. Eric's room is towards the end of one of the many side corridors. He quickly unlocks it and they hurry inside.

The staff accommodation strongly reminds Eric of monks' cells. The rooms are narrow, with low ceilings and unplastered walls, barely big enough for a bed, a dresser, a small table and chair. There are a few hooks on the back of the door and that's it. No closet, no mirror. But they can count themselves lucky. Until six months ago, before the barracks were ready for habitation, staff slept in a series of wooden huts, half a dozen men or women per building. So really, the fact that this room looks like a prison cell doesn't matter.

Eric steps over to the window and pulls the curtain closed. Only then does he turn on the light.

"Sorry," Aaron says, a little sheepishly. "I should've remembered where we are." Homosexuality is illegal in Liberia, and perpetrators are punished severely. That anyone would dare snitch on two white guys Eric doubts very much. But it's better not to take a risk.

"It's okay," he replies. He stands there for a moment, feeling sheepish. Then he chastises himself. This is what he's dreamt of, ever since he saw Aaron for the first time.

He takes Aaron's hand again, and pulls him down onto the bed. There's a colorful quilt spread over the sheets, and from where they're sitting they have a good view of the big educational poster listing West African plants that Eric has tacked onto the opposite wall.

Aaron smiles at him. "As I was saying," he begins, then draws Eric into a long and increasingly passionate kiss. Aaron's fingers against Eric's face and neck are so sure, so gentle, Eric feels instantly calm and safe. When they pull apart for some air he takes one of Aaron's hands in his, and traces their outline. Then he puts their palms together; his own hand small and pale against Aaron's much bigger one. Eric smiles. This is so right.

After a few seconds Aaron reaches out and begins unbuttoning Eric's shirt, and Eric follows suit. Soon they're naked to the waist. Aaron trails his fingers down Eric's chest, over his nipples. Eric shudder with pleasure.

"You're like pale marble," Aaron murmurs. "How do you not get burnt out here?"

"I stay covered, and indoors," Eric smiles. "To preserve my perfect complexion."

Aaron laughs. He leans forward and kisses the tip or Eric's nose, which is covered in tiny freckles. When he pulls away again his dark blue eyes are alight with desire. He strokes Eric's jaw and chin with the back of his fingers. "Man…," he murmurs softly.

"What?" Eric shivers at the gentleness of the caress, the dark timbre of Aaron's voice.

"You're so damn beautiful." Aaron shakes his head. "I know you must be twenty-one to even be here…"

"But I don't look it?" Eric grins. "Good genes. I'll be twenty-five in two months."

"Ah," Aaron says, looking relieved. "In that case…" And he pushes Eric down into the pillows.

Then he stretches out on top of Eric, covering his face and neck and chest with hot kisses. After a few minutes of this, he props himself up with one arm and his hand gets busy with Eric's pants buttons. Eric can feel his cock grow hard. Aaron notices, and with a small smile puts his hand on the front of Eric's jeans and rubs him through the fabric. Eric gives a little whimper.

"You got…?" Aaron asks.

"Top drawer," Eric pants, glancing at the dresser which does double duty as night stand next to the bed. "Never even thought to bring any, but all health workers give them out like candy, so…"

Aaron stretches until he can glance into the drawer. "Slick, too?" He pulls out a condom and a single-serve packet of lube.

Eric shrugs. "Buggery might be illegal, but nobody mentioned to the top brass that this has other uses besides killing sperm."

"And I know for a fact that money is closer to most governments' hearts here than their Christian principles." Aaron sounds very glum all of a sudden. "As long as they're well lubricated even slick will make it past the morality police."

"But it's bribery for a good cause," Eric says.

Aaron nods, then sighs.

"What is it?" Eric is suddenly afraid, and his hard-on is rapidly waning.

"It's…damn, I wish we'd done this days ago!" Aaron exclaims. "The thing is, I finally heard from Mr. Grey, the envoy I'm attached to. They'll collect me tomorrow, on the way. And…and now I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

"You're not," Eric says quietly.

"But what if I don't come back?"

"You will," Eric assures him. "And I'll be here, waiting." He pulls Aaron down into a long kiss, and soon their arousal is growing again.

There's not much talking after that. Aaron, gentle and solicitous, maintains eye contact throughout, and his eyes tell Eric all there is to know.

This isn't a one-off. This night is the beginning of something new.

Afterward, they lie in each others' arms, safe and calm and happy. The animals in the forest are making a racket as usual, and they listen to the night without speaking, until finally, sleep takes them into dreams of a new future.

#

The white UN four-by-four that whisked Aaron away has barely been gone a couple of hours when the first rumors of fighting near the capital reach the hospital. All throughout the day, Eric tries to stay busy, which isn't hard to do with all the wards stretched beyond capacity. That night, he falls into bed, and an almost dreamless sleep.

A day passes, then another. Whenever he looks up from cleaning up around the beds, dispensing medicines or consoling sick and wounded patients, Eric remembers Aaron's eyes on him when they woke after their night together, and his last words before he left. "I promise, I'll come back to you."

Every time Eric walks over to the hospital, a few more nurses and health workers have disappeared. Those living close by mostly ask for leave to check on their families, but few come back. Those from further afield quietly disappear into the night. The Western volunteers and doctors don't try to stop them. Many of them are starting to wonder if it isn't time to leave, too.

On the fourth day, they can hear the gunfire. It doesn't seem to get any closer, but everyone is tense. Eric doesn't take part in the obsessive political debates between the remaining Liberians on staff. He knows that both sides in this civil war have committed atrocities. He came here to help, regardless who comes through the hospital gates, wounded, sick and scared. They all do the best they can, as usual, but outside work everyone is now keeping to themselves.

At night, Eric mostly lies awake in the sweltering humidity, staring at the mosquito net over his head and recalling the hours he spent right here with Aaron. He can still smell him on the sheets, a faint, musky smell of sweat, insect repellent and an unfamiliar shampoo. He closes his eyes and whispers the words that have become a mantra to him. _Please, let him be safe._ To Aaron's face, he was brave and upbeat, but he's never been more scared in his life.

On the sixth day, armed soldiers arrive. They take position around the hospital premises, but don't interfere with the running of the place. The government seems to think that a working hospital is an asset that's worth protecting. Eric hopes fervently that they won't change their minds before Aaron makes it back. For the first time, there is serious talk about evacuation. Eric keeps quiet. He's not going anywhere until he knows that Aaron is safe.

Then, shortly before nightfall on the seventh day, there is a commotion in the main courtyard. Eric is halfway through dispensing medication on the maternity ward. He quickly hands the tray with the pills to a junior nurse, then hurries down the stairs.

The men staggering through the gate are dirty, bloody and exhausted. Eric recognizes Grey, the "envoy", and two of the Liberian guards that came with him in the white Jeep bearing the UN letters. And then, in the middle of a confusing group of doctors, nurses and soldiers who come running from all sides…

"Aaron!"

Eric rushes towards the disheveled figure, but stops short when he feels the others all staring at him. He wants to gather Aaron up in his arms, check him for broken bones and shield him from all further harm. But he can't, not in front of everyone. Instead he looks him up and down.

Aaron has a head wound close to the hairline on the right temple, and blood has gushed down the side of his face. His linen shirt is dirty and bloody, and so are his cargo pants. But he's upright, and his eyes are clear. Eric extends an arm. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Leaning into Eric Aaron lets himself be led into the ER. He's limping a little, and is clearly exhausted. While the doctors and nurses bustle around and find a gurney for everyone Eric gets a bowl of warm water and a set of scrubs. He gets Aaron out of his dirty clothes and has him clean and in fresh clothes before it's his turn with the doctor. Aaron lets everything happen. He and the others are dazed with fatigue, and gratefully drink the water and eat the food brought to them by the staff. Nobody talks more than is necessary to get the work done. Everyone throws Mr. Grey nervous looks, and Aaron keeps his eyes trained away from him.

When the doctor has stitched Aaron's wound, Eric finishes the cleaning job, washing dirt and blood off his face. Then he motions at Aaron to get up. "C'mon, I'll find you a room. We got no shortage now, in the staff quarters."

Grey throws them a look. "You know the drill," he says quietly as Aaron passes his gurney, Eric's arm around him for support. Aaron stops for a second, but doesn't look up.

"Yeah," he says after a moment. "I do."

They make their slow way out of the hospital and across the inner yard. Without a word being spoken, they go straight to Eric's room. Eric helps Aaron stretch out on the bed, pulls his shoes off, then brings the single chair and sits down close by the bed.

"Tell me what happened," he says, and leans forwards, elbows on his knees. "I was sick with worry."

Aaron's eyes are mere slits, he's completely exhausted. "I can't tell you where we went," he says.

"But you can tell me what happened," Eric insists. "Or some of it. Don't I deserve that?"

Aaron gives a long sigh. "Of course you do. Alright," he says, and rolls onto his side with a wince. Eric adjusts the pillow for him. When he meets Aaron's eyes again they're full of love. Eric takes Aaron's hand and intertwines their fingers.

"As I said, I shouldn't really go into any details," Aaron begins. "You heard Grey. But I guess I can tell you that we got to where we were going. It's, well… a place known to hide rebels."

"Were you there to negotiate?" Eric asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Aaron looks at the botany poster over Eric's shoulder. "Something like that," he says evasively. "Anyway, during the first night the fighting came very close to the…compound. Grey was ready to abandon the mission right away. He's good at his job," he adds, almost pleadingly. "He doesn't take unnecessary risks, just on the off-chance of salvaging a…negotiation." Eric reluctantly nods his understanding. That envoy nearly got his lover killed, and he'll never forgive the man. But he stays quiet, and Aaron continues. "The…the owner of the compound wouldn't let us go."

Eric's fingers involuntarily tighten on Aaron's. "You mean, he wanted to keep you hostage?"

"I'm not sure," Aaron says, a little evasively again. "He didn't want us…well…"

"You were trying to negotiate with a war lord, weren't you? A rebel leader?" The thought makes Eric feel sick. He has heard terrible stories from those compounds, of rape, torture and executions.

"Yes." Aaron's voice is barely audible. "Don't repeat that word anywhere, alright?" Eric nods mutely. Aaron carries on. "He never made any demands, and he didn't harm us. He kept us safe, for whatever reason. And he was probably not wrong to keep us indoors, and out of the melee. The fighting was terrible. We could hear explosions, and screams, and people running, every night."

"Where did he keep you?" Eric has terrible visions of underground prisons and torture chambers. He needs to know.

"We were housed in the women's compound. No other men are allowed in there. The place was filling up with militia, and the master didn't trust them around his wives."

"Wives? Plural?" Eric has heard rumors, but so far, he has dismissed them as tall tales used to discredit the rebel leaders.

"Yeah," Aaron says, disgust on his face. "They're slaves, child brides. The daughters of the enemy, for status and punishment." He rubs his eyes. "There were half a dozen girls, they were terrified. A couple had babies… but they fed us, and they didn't live in squalor…"

This is hard to hear, but not half as hard as having to recount it. Eric gets up. "You've been through hell and back. I'm sorry I made you remember it all. Aaron, you need to sleep. You're hurt, and exhausted…"

"Let me finish, please?" Aaron says, his tired eyes oddly bright. "Now that I've started…and I'm almost done. Here…," he pushes himself over to the far side of the bed. "Lie down."

Eric doesn't need to be told twice. He steps out of his shoes and stretches out by Aaron's side. Only when he's lying down does he realize how tired he is himself. This last week seems to have lasted a year.

He pulls Aaron close, and Aaron rests his head on Eric's shoulder with a sigh. After a few moments of enjoying Eric caressing his back and shoulder, he continues his tale. "About two days ago, the master finally agreed to let us go. Food was running out, and something big was being prepared. Grey tried to find out more, but he didn't share. He didn't want to expose the rest of us to any bigger risks." He's silent for a moment. "That war lord, he wasn't all bad. I spoke with him a little, early on. He truly believes that President Taylor is harming his country, and that he has no choice but to fight. Or he used to believe that, anyway. Who can even tell anymore…there seems no right or wrong in this…"

"Is there ever, in war?" Eric whispers against Aaron's curls.

Aaron sighed. "But that man, he didn't want us to die. He let us go, with our Jeep, and all our weapons. He even gave us some water."

"What happened to the car? You came back on foot."

"Our luck ran out this morning," Aaron explains. "Until then, the UN logo kept us safe, I suppose. All the rebel groups that stopped us, and all the soldiers, they let us go after studying our papers. We drove all day yesterday, everything is so much slower now, with all the checkpoints. We couldn't find any gas, either, that took us forever. And our guards didn't think we should travel in the dark. So we waited out the night, slept in the Jeep. In the morning, when we started engine, someone suddenly started shooting at us. We escaped, narrowly. But a tire must've gotten nicked. We were about thirty miles from here when it blew. The Jeep swerved off the road and into the ditch."

"Is that how you hurt your head?"

"Yeah, and Grey dislocated his shoulder," Aaron says. Eric barely even remembers that the envoy had been holding his arm strangely. Aaron continues," We walked. It took a pretty minute, but we were lucky. Nobody attacked us. Villagers pointed us in the right direction, some let us rest at their house and gave us food and water at midday."

"What an adventure," Eric says, hugging Aaron closer. "I can still barely believe I got you back in one piece. More or less."

They're quiet for a few minutes. Eric is sure Aaron is about to nod off. It's very late now, and they have to go to sleep. Eric should get up, tuck the mosquito net around them while he's still awake enough to check that no bloodsuckers are on the inside, then turn off the light and get some rest, too. But this is so comfortable, lying here with his guy nestled close.

"We can't stay here," Aaron says, when Eric is already sure he's asleep. He startles from a doze, and forces himself to pay attention. "All Westerners will have to leave soon, it's a matter of days. You really should've left already…"

"Fat chance," Eric replies. "Nobody could've gotten me away from here without you. Where will you go?"

"Palestine," Aaron replies without hesitation. "I mean, the West Bank, or the Gaza Strip, wherever my boss wants me. When I was stationed in Egypt, before all this, that's what he had in mind for me." He laughs humorlessly. "I didn't think the Arab-Israeli conflict would be adventurous enough." He sighs deeply. "I think I changed my mind."

Eric shifts around until he can kiss Aaron's forehead. "Would they have any use for a botanist in Hebron, I wonder?"

Aaron pulls back until he can prop himself up and look into Eric's face. "You mean that? You wanna come?"

Eric nods, and despite his exhaustion Aaron laughs with delight. He kisses Eric long and tenderly, then says, "I'm sure we can find you something to do. There are definitely cows there in need of a midwife."

"Watch it, you," Eric says, grinning. He reaches up and tucks Aaron's soft, tousled curls back behind his ear. "You mean it? You want me to come?"

Aaron's eyes are sparkling, all tiredness forgotten for a moment. "With all my heart."

"Good," Eric sighs and pulls Aaron down against his shoulder again. "Because they'll have to lock me up if they want to keep me away from you."

They lie there in the humid, fragrant night, hearing gunfire in the distance, grateful for the happiness they've so unexpectedly found amidst the violence and despair.


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter is heavy on the rickyl. And it'll help a lot if you know the 'There's No Waking From The Horro' series

 _ASZ, Virginia, 2012_

"Daryl, wait up!"

Jesus comes jogging across the street, deserted so early in the morning. Daryl waits for him to catch up. He has his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"Going out to check the snares," he says when Jesus draws level. "Wanna come?"

Jesus nods. "I could really do with stretching my legs. If you don't mind having company…"

Daryl shrugs. "Sure, why not."

They exit Alexandria through the newly repaired main gate, and Daryl leads the way into the underbrush a few yards down the road. Jesus walks behind him, not speaking, and hardly making a noise. He's got a knack for stealth. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but Daryl senses that Jesus is unusually subdued.

The barely discernible path soon widens, and Daryl slows down so they're walking next to one another. "How's Aaron?" he asks.

Jesus doesn't answer for a while. When he does, he sounds kind of tired. "Not so good. He hides away in his room most of the time." He lets a few heartbeats pass, then adds very quietly, "I'm not sure what to do."

As they walk on, Daryl mulls over the issue. "When things settle down, maybe ya could take him to Hilltop. Hospital's busy right now, but Joel would see him, 'm sure."

"Maybe. But it's grief, how much can anyone help with that?" Jesus sounds dejected. "I think what he needs it time. It's just hard to watch, seeing him fall apart."

"Yeah," Daryl says. He's learned that, sometimes, people just need to say what's weighing on their minds, and that they're not asking him to solve their problems. He finds this need odd, but it explains something he'd never really understood before. He's definitely better at listening now.

They reach the first rabbit trap Daryl set the day before. There's a dead hare trapped in it. Daryl crouches down and begins to untangle the animal and set the trap again for the next unlucky bunny. Jesus stands over him, keeping watch.

"What happened to Eric?" Jesus asks when Daryl straightens up again. "I mean…if you can't talk about it…"

"Yeah, I can," Daryl interrupts him gruffly. Why does everyone always pussyfoot around him? He isn't fragile now, he doesn't need protecting.

"I didn't want you to get upset," Jesus says quietly, looking fixedly at the ground.

That stops Daryl in his tracks. He keeps forgetting that there are people in his life now who care about him, care how he's feeling. He blushes a little. He didn't mean to be rude. "Sorry," he says. "I'll tell ya, what happened."

He motions at Jesus to keep walking, and stays slightly ahead. It's easier to talk when he doesn't have to look at the other man. The forest is quiet, there's no wind. Daryl keeps his voice low.

"On that day, we split up. Everything was happening at once, we were trying to stay ahead, get under Negan's guard somehow. Eric was with Rick and I, and Tobin was there too. We took the RV. Some others went before us, a different route. We was gonna meet them on the other side. Don't even really remember, why we did that…" Daryl stops. Looks like Jesus was right. It hurts, remembering it, and he knows he's rambling. That's what often happens. He starts talking, and he can't remember what's important and what isn't, and words scramble in his head until he feels confused and miserable. He hates his brain, sometimes.

"It was a trap, wasn't it?" Jesus prompts gently. "On the road?"

"Yeah," Daryl says, grateful for the direction. "Chicken wire, with nails, low on the ground. Didn't put the RV out of action right away, but we felt it, and stopped." He shakes his head, still furious at their stupidity. "We should've known."

"Maybe," Jesus says. They're much more honest with each other these days. People don't beat about the bush so much. But Jesus doesn't blame them. They fucked up a few times, royally. So did the other side. So does everyone, in this world. Nothing's safe. Shit happens.

"So, we stopped," Daryl says slowly. He's in the story now, he can feel the tension they all felt then. His heart beats faster. "Right before this big intersection. Rail tracks, three roads. We got out, weapons drawn. They shot at the tires first, didn't even bother with us. We was like rats in a lab, like they wanted the show." Daryl stops, and Jesus does too. Daryl doesn't turn around. "We knew what it was then, but it was too late. Walkers came, from all sides. They brought them in trucks, drove them toward us. We ran for the woods. Eric was behind me, and he fell back… His leg, I think it was still hurtin'. He'd said nuthin', but I wonder…"

Daryl can't go on. His heart is racing, he's feeling dizzy. "You wanna sit down?" Jesus asks. Daryl shakes his head.

"They got him," Jesus says. It's not a question.

"Yeah," Daryl croaks. He starts walking again, trying to concentrate on the ground, locate the next snare. He crouches down, and slowly retrieves another dead rabbit. As he works the familiar knots and carefully sets the trap up again, his hands finally stop shaking, and his heart slows down.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," Jesus says quietly after a while.

Daryl straightens up. "'m not," he says. "Jus' cuz it's hard don't mean we shouldn't remember." It's better to talk about it and not be alone with the horrors, he knows that now. He jerks his head. "C'mon, let's head back."

There's half a dozen snares still to check, but Daryl can't face any more. He still feels a little shaky, and Jesus' face looks very white. They're in no shape to be out here right now.

They make their way back to Alexandria in silence. When they've passed through the gate Jesus says, "I better go back home. See how Aaron's getting on."

"Yeah, alright," Daryl agrees, then adds, "'s real good that yer here for him. It helps, not bein' alone."

Jesus nods, and gives him a half smile. Then he turns and walks slowly down the street. Daryl watches him for a moment, then makes his way to his own home. He walks past the house to the back porch. Here he settles down and draws out his knife.

As he sits on the stoop, his hands bloody, knife slicing through fur and flesh he sometimes looks up at the graves dotted around between the houses and the wall. He can just about read Eric's name on the cross he made and stuck on top of the mound of earth that hides Eric's possessions.

It seems mad, sometimes, to still hope, and carry on like they have a future. But what's the alternative?

#

"Rick?"

Daryl sticks his head around the door into their bedroom. Rick is on the bed, holding a book. He's fully clothed and lying on top of the covers.

"Hey, buddy," he says, putting the book on the nightstand.

"Ya okay?" Daryl asks. He steps fully into the room and closes the door behind him. "Carol said yer gone up. It's not even nine, Judith's still downstairs with Carl."

Rick doesn't answer the question. He only says, "You missed dinner." Then he swings his legs off the bed and gets up. He comes over to Daryl and stands very close.

"Was up on the platform. Rosita brought us sandwiches."

"I hadn't realized you were on guard duty today," Rick says, frowning.

"I wasn't," Daryl says. "On the roster, I mean. Just felt like being out of doors a bit longer. So," he tries again. "Why're ya up here? Ya not feeling well?"

"I'm feeling fine," Rick says, and steps even closer. He puts a hand on Daryl's neck. "Just wanted us to be alone a bit. Told Carol to send you up soon as you came back. Been ages since we last spent any time in here and not dead on our feet." He leans close and kisses Daryl.

Daryl lets himself sink against Rick. Rick's free hand comes to rest on Daryl's ass, and he pulls him close. Daryl moans as his growing erection is trapped against Rick's groin. Rick breaks the kiss and regards Daryl from eyes full of desire. Daryl holds his gaze. "Why're we not doin' this more?" he wants to know.

"No idea, buddy," Rick says.

They resume kissing. Rick's hands wander up Daryl's chest, undoing buttons. He takes a step back when Daryl's shirt falls open. There's a smile playing around his lips as he regards Daryl's bare chest. "I'm a lucky devil," he says quietly.

Daryl smiles. "Is that so?" He takes Rick by the shoulders and pushes him towards the bed. By the time Rick's calves hit the bed frame Daryl has undone Rick's belt and pants buttons. They each strip off quickly; pants, shirts, boxer shorts and Daryl's boots hitting the floor. Daryl reaches for Rick's erection, which is sticking out, dark and inviting. Rick moans softly.

He reaches for Daryl again, this time both hands on his ass. He pulls Daryl close until both their dicks are trapped against their bellies. He moves against Daryl until Daryl whimpers with lust. They resume kissing, hands roaming the landscape of bare skin.

Rick is trembling. His breath is hot as he kisses Daryl's face, then neck, then torso. Daryl reaches between them, his fingers gliding against sweaty skin until he can grasp Rick's shaft. Rick shudders.

"Don't," he pants. "Don't, or I'll cum." His eyes, when they meet Daryl's, are full of desire. He blushes slightly as he continues, "Get on the bed. On…on your knees."

Daryl is already moving. "Doggy style?" he asks with a grin.

"Yeah," Rick says, his breath speeding up.

Daryl climbs onto the bed on all fours. He turns his head. Rick is staring at his ass, stroking his erection with one hand. Daryl spreads his legs wider, pushes his hips back.

"God, Daryl," Rick murmurs. He lifts his free hand and lets his fingers glide over Daryl's ass, into the crack. When his thumb is pressing against Daryl's opening, Daryl shudders. A low growl starts deep inside his throat. He wants to push back against Rick's thumb, but when he tries Rick murmurs, "Wait."

The pressure disappears from Daryl's hole. Daryl glances around again. Rick is pulling open the bedside table, looking for slick. He locates the little tube and squirts a large amount onto his hand. He warms it briefly with his fingers, then lathers the sticky stuff generously onto his shaft. Then the fingers are back in Daryl's crack. This time, Rick's index finger slowly pushes in without delay. Daryl takes a sudden, sharp breath, then exhales slowly. He can feel himself opening up around Rick's finger.

"You okay?" Rick asks.

"Am I ever," Daryl growls, rocking his hips. "Put…put more fingers in, man. I gotta feel ya…"

Rick obliges. His index finger is soon joined by his middle, then his ring finger. He wriggles them in until he can hit Daryl's prostate. Daryl whimpers, his arms tremble on the bed. He glances around again. Rick's eyes are sparkling. "Fuck me, oh god…," Daryl whispers.

Rick's fingers vanish, and for a moment Daryl feels terribly empty. Then he can feel the tip of Rick's dick against his opening, and he gives another growl. Steadying Daryl by the hips, Rick slowly pushes in. Daryl exhales shakily, trying to relax. He feels so full, so good, he moans loudly. When Rick's erection brushes past his prostate Daryl reaches for his own dick. Sticky precum soon coats his fingers.

Rick begins to move slowly in and out. "That feel okay?" he asks, his voice slightly breathless. Daryl glances back again.

"'s perfect, man," he breathes. "'m not gonna last tho…"

The expression on Rick's face is indescribable. "I'm right there with you, buddy," he says. "Don't hold back." And he picks up speed. Daryl lowers his head and closes his eyes.

Rick's hands on Daryl's hips tighten as he gets faster and faster. But suddenly, he slows down, and lets go of Daryl's right hip. Daryl, teetering on the edge, opens his eyes again and glance behind him. "Rick?"

But Rick isn't looking at Daryl's face. His eyes are fixed on Daryl's back, and his scars. He places his hand gently on Daryl's spine. Daryl stiffens.

Rick's fingers trace the largest of the scars, down to Daryl's lower back. "I'm sorry, bud. I didn't mean to… I love you, Daryl."

Emotions course through Daryl. Desire and horror, pain and love and sadness all intermingle. "I love ya too." He chokes out the words.

Without slipping out, Rick leans down and forward until he can go no further. Daryl understands. He twists around as far as he can, until their lips meet. Never has a kiss been sweeter, or more tender.

But when Rick straightens up again, the gentleness moves into the background. His hands knead Daryl's thighs, his hips, and he takes up the rhythm again, fucking Daryl harder and faster than ever before. Daryl's eyes roll back in his head with pleasure. He gives himself over to the sensation of not quite pain, not pure ecstasy. The heat is building in his belly again, the sensation of Rick filling him up is driving him nearly insane.

And then he tips over the edge. He cries out once, as hot cum squirts from between his fingers. Rick, so deep inside as never before, suddenly stops, panting. He leans over Daryl as his own orgasm grips him, his breath hot on Daryl's back.

When he has some of his breath back, and his surroundings are coming out of the blur, Daryl looks down. He gives a soft laugh.

"What?" Rick demands to know. He still hasn't moved, and the warmth of his pelvis, his waning erection still inside, feels wonderful to Daryl.

"Made a mess," Daryl says. "On the sheets." He scrubs at the whitish stains with his fingers.

"Never mind that," Rick laughs, pulling out. "We'll change the sheets tomorrow, then it'll be worth it. I came so deep inside you, you'll be leaking for hours."

Daryl feels momentarily empty when Rick's dick slips from him. But the feeling doesn't last. As soon as he's clambered off the bed, a little unsteady on his feet, Rick pulls him close and into a long kiss. This time, Daryl reaches around and grasps Rick's bare ass, bringing their bodies together. Incredibly, his dick twitches as it comes to lie against their hot skin.

But then he pulls away. Rick's prediction is coming true. There's a burning sensation in his rectum, and he can feel a little of Rick's spunk leak in between his ass cheeks. "Ugh, jus' great," he huffs in mock chagrin. "Ya had to, right?"

Rick's soft laugh follows him into the bathroom. Here, Daryl takes care of the leakage. He likes the feeling of Rick's cum inside him, even if it's a bit messy and gross.

When he returns to the bedroom, Rick is in bed, wearing boxers but no tee. Daryl quickly retrieves his own underwear and pulls it on. Then he climbs into bed next to Rick, where his lover has thoughtfully folded back the blankets.

Rick pulls him close, and Daryl rests his head against Rick's chest. They often fall asleep like this, holding one another. Ever since staying at the Kingdom their relationship, and their sex life, have been the source of comfort and strength that allows them to tackle the new world every day.

"How was your day?" Rick asks. Daryl no longer dreads this ritual. Rick never presses him for more than he can give, even if it's just a mumbled _Okay_.

Tonight, Daryl has more to say than that. "Not great," he admits. "Went to check the snares with Jesus in the morning."

"Yeah, I figured," Rick says. "The rabbit stew was great."

Daryl hugs Rick close. At least something good came from that trip. He ponders for a moment. Maybe it'd be better to keep quiet, after all. But Rick knows there's more, and Daryl knows it'll hurt them both. Still, these things have a habit of festering if they stay bottled up. So he continues, "Rick, he asked about Eric."

There's a long pause. Then Rick says quietly. "You told him." The pain in his lover's voice cuts Daryl deeply.

He lifts his head and seeks out Rick's gaze. "Some…I tried, anyway. Was…was that wrong?"

"Course not, bud," Rick says quickly. He reaches out and strokes Daryl's face. "It's just…" There are tears beading his lashes.

"Yeah," Daryl says. "It made me real sad, too." He brings their foreheads together, then sighs. "It's right of him to ask. I think he can help, y'know. Just be there, so Aaron's not alone. It's bad, to be alone."

"I wish we could do something to help," Rick says very quietly.

Daryl nods. "Me too. But when Aaron's ready, we'll know what to do." He rests his head back on Rick's chest. Rick's hand settles on Daryl's neck, and Daryl gives a small hum.

"I'm real glad I got you, buddy," Rick murmurs. "You're right, being alone is bad. And…I know he blames me. I wish…but…"

Daryl doesn't speak. There is no way of fixing their mistake. Eric's dead. It's no more Rick's fault than his, or Tobin's. It's Negan's fault. It's the universe's fault.

"Go to sleep," Daryl whispers. He reaches over Rick and finds the off switch for the bedside lamp. Then he settles down again and stroke's Rick's arm and shoulder gently. Soon, Rick's breathing slows, and he drops off.

Daryl lies awake for a long time, wondering how strange life is. Who gets to decide who lives and who dies? Why do they go on? And what else can they do?


	4. Chapter 4

Aaron has been sitting in traffic for the better part of an hour. In total, he's moved maybe a mile. He can still see the dome of the Capitol in the rear-view mirror.

If the phone network was still working he could at least tell Eric that he's stuck here. Eric will be sitting at home, worrying. The school he works at has been closed for two days already, and Aaron has made Eric promise not to go further from their house than the little neighborhood supermarket. "I worry about you," he said in bed the night before. "But I also worry about our house. Please stay home tomorrow?"

The rumors at the UNDP office have been running rampant for days. One of the more persistent ones is that the president, before leaving Washington on board Air Force One, gave orders to deactivate all civilian cell networks, to better control the population's level of knowledge, and their movement. The official advice still is, _Stay at home, don't panic_. As these things go, it has largely been ignored. The cars jam-packed to Aaron's left are testament of that.

Aaron has seen enough governments lose the grip on their country to know that, if they haven't entered the phase of military rule yet, they're close. Thinking of soldiers in D.C. makes Aaron wish he had a pistol, or even his grandpa's old shotgun with him. No biters have yet been reported in Washington or the bordering counties, and being armed when entering any UN-owned building is more hassle than it's worth.

His days working for the UN are over now, anyway. That was his own choice. He could've gone with Bricker, his team leader and boss, on one of the last helicopters leaving today from the lawn outside the White House. Most of the civil servants, House staff and politicians have been taken away by now, to one secret location or another. But there's no way Aaron would have gone, not without preparation. The helicopter left at three thirty pm. There was no time to get Eric, no way to contact him, without cell networks or the internet. Bricker and some of their team left, and Aaron got into his car to drive home.

Now here he is, stuck. He cranes his neck, tries to see past the cars in front of him, snaking off to infinity. They haven't moved an inch in twenty minutes. His engine has been off for fifteen. The radio has been repeating the same warning for about the same time. _Stay at home, don't block the highways._ Aaron snorts and turns the radio off. Eric will be frantic.

Suddenly, an explosion shakes the car. Aaron glances into the rear view mirror again. There's nothing to see except a small, black plume of smoke far off in the distance.

Has the infection reached the city? Is the military starting to blow up D.C.? They're sitting ducks here, and it's driving Aaron crazy.

He turns the key in the ignition. Edging carefully away from the car in front, he drives his old, beat-up Toyota right onto the pavement. He's not the only one to have had that idea. It seems almost a pointless curtesy. Nothing will be moving down these roads in a long time, and there's not enough space on the sidewalk and lawns to move all the cars out of the street.

He gets out of the car with his backpack and, for no reason at all, locks the vehicle. His pack contains two quarter-gallons of water, several energy bars and a first-aid kit. This morning, Aaron dressed in cargo pants and hiking boots. He's worked in the field long enough to read the signs of a society's impending collapse.

Hitching his bag onto his back Aaron sets off for home.

#

"Aaron! It's you, thank god!"

Eric stands in the archway to the kitchen, baseball bat at the ready to deliver a deadly whack to anyone coming through the entrance door. If the situation wasn't so bleary Aaron would laugh. His slight, gentle lover with the big bat looks decidedly comical. Suddenly, Aaron is terribly afraid. What will happen to them? Can he keep Eric safe?

"Sorry, babe." He shrugs off the backpack and drops it wearily by his feet. Twenty miles in today's muggy heat wasn't exactly a walk in the park. Eric leans the bat against the wall, then locks the front door behind Aaron.

"What are we gonna do?" he asks, sounding worried. "Should we leave, go to one of the refugee camps they've been talking about?"

Aaron thinks for a moment. "Is the power still on?" Eric nods. Aaron bends down and unlaces his boots. "Let me go drink about a gallon of water, and have a shower. Then we'll talk." He looks at Eric. Seeing his guy look so worried gives him a stab. "C'mere, babe," he says, beckoning.

Eric needs no more encouragement. He hurries into Aaron's arms, and Aaron hugs him tightly. Eric gives a deep sigh. Aaron kisses his temple. "It'll be okay," he says. "We've been through worse." Eric makes an unconvinced sound.

Aaron takes Eric by the hand and pulls him into the kitchen. He opens the freezer and takes out some ice cubes, which he pops into a glass. Then he fills the glass up with cold water from the tap. He drinks down the first glass quickly, then a second one more slowly.

"What did you do today?" he asks Eric, who is now sitting at the breakfast counter that's attached to their DIY kitchen island.

"Finished packing the car," Eric says. "I thought we might have to leave in a hurry."

"Yeah, we'll probably have to," Aaron agrees. "Just not right away. Good thing you're so practical." He hesitates. "I left the Toyota by the side of the road, on Independence Avenue."

Eric rubs his face. "Yeah, I figured." He motions to Aaron. "Go grab a shower. I'll make dinner."

Aaron goes upstairs. In the bedroom, he pulls down all the blinds. As he glances out the window he can't see a single human being. For now, anyway, their neighbors seem to be heeding the government's advice.

He strips down by the glow of the bedside lamp. As he puts his sweaty clothes into the hamper he stops and looks around. So many memories. In his mind he sees himself and Eric painting this room, putting up the furniture they'd ordered from a budget online store or found at yard sales. Their first home, their very own. After making the decision to come back to Washington they'd both been ready for it, and they wanted it to be all theirs. A Washington suburb had seemed pretty tame after their adventures in Africa, Asia and the Middle East, but they've been very happy here. Three years this September, it would've been. Now their days here are numbered. No more lazy Sunday morning breakfasts in bed, no love-making with the windows open, and fuck the neighbors.

Aaron shakes his head sadly and goes into the bathroom. The hot shower feels wonderful. He savors it as much as he can, knowing that this luxury will soon be over, too. They can live without hot showers, god knows they've done it before. Who knew that one day their experience of living and working in unstable countries would come in handy right here? And Aaron still hates the thought. Just because they always manage doesn't mean he'll relish it. And from what he's heard on the grapevine, and seen in amateur videos uploaded to the internet, this will be much worse, and much less transient, than a regime change.

When he comes downstairs, all the blinds and curtains are closed, and the little red light on the door alarm is flashing. Eric is in the kitchen. "We could put the storm blinds on, too," he says, turning steaks in a griddle pan.

"Not tonight," Aaron says. "Everything seems quiet outside. What are you making?"

"Everything that'll go off when the power goes," Eric says, pointing at a plate of mozzarella and tomatoes. "And some green veg, while we've got it. And there are some strawberries with cream for dessert."

"Fancy," Aaron says. He points at a rack of what looks like oatmeal bars. "You made those too?"

"Yeah," Eric said. "They keep a while, and I used up all the butter."

Aaron smiles, despite himself. "Ever the practical one, my Eric." He goes over to the stove and kisses Eric gently.

Over dinner, for which Aaron insists to open a bottle of red wine, they come right to the point. "Still think we should stay?" Eric asks between mouthfuls.

Aaron considers him. "What do you think we should do?" he asks in lieu of a reply. Their intellects are well matched. Eric's mind is fundamentally practical; he draws on experience and on what he learned in his hands-on work in the field. His brain holds a fountain of knowledge, and his judgement is always informed by it.

Aaron is the tactical thinker. He's good at reading people, and knows when to ask their advice. His priority right now is Eric's safety, but he's conscious that Eric is just as well equipped to deal with this crisis as he is, and that their best bet is teamwork.

"I think we should stay, for now," Eric says slowly. "It's quiet here, and we're away from the main infrastructure arteries. We've got food and water; I made sure of that. And," he adds, his eyes on Aaron full of gentle concern. "You had a long trek today, and should get a good night's sleep."

Aaron smiles at him. "All good points. And, thanks to you, we're ready to leave at the drop of a hat."

They clean up together after dinner, then stretch out in front of the TV, with the rest of the wine and their strawberries and cream. If the news anchor wasn't painting such a bleak picture it would be a comfortable, cozy night in.

All normal programming has been suspended, and they turn to BBC World, their news channel of choice. Little seems to have changed in the last twenty-four hours. The news anchor talks of more refugee camps in the heavily affected areas, interspersed with lists and maps showing all affected cities. The lists are getting longer.

"The entire world has been hit with a new and terrifying disease," the man says in a cultured British accent. "Outbreaks have now been reported in over two hundred countries. Experts are working on the cause, and potential cure, for the strange new disease. It is strongly advised that you do not approach any person you suspect could be infected."

The screen changes to a short video on how to recognize the infection. They've seen the same hastily shot video at least a dozen times in the last few days. When the newsreader's face reappears he looks pale and troubled. "We have just received an updated list of all the cities marked for evacuation." He reads out the list of names as they scroll along the bottom of the screen. Included are Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, Nashville…

Aaron frowns. "Why those places?" he asks as he scans the names. "Nearly half of them are smaller than D.C., but we're not on that list."

"I don't know," Eric says. He lies nestled against Aaron's chest, and now shifts restlessly. "And what are they gonna do to those places?" For the first time there's actual fear in his voice. Aaron looks down into Eric's face. His bright blue eyes are troubled.

"No clue," he says, and hugs Eric tightly. Aaron is sure that they're both thinking the same thing – nuclear attacks on densely populated areas all across the country. But the list makes no sense. Who decided on the cities? Washington should be on it, and so should San Francisco, and Houston.

"Do you think someone up there," Eric motions in the general direction of Washington, "still knows what they're doing? Did that order come from the White House?"

"Well, no," Aaron says. It hardly matters now, that this is supposedly classified. "The White House is empty. There's nobody left in D.C."

"Figures," Eric sighs. He hugs Aaron tightly. "I'm glad you didn't go with them," he says quietly. "And that you came back to me."

There's a quick, furtive, guilty feeling in Aaron's gut. Did he, ever so briefly, contemplate leaving Eric behind, to get to safety?

No, he did not. He'd never leave Eric. "Let's go to bed," Aaron says.

They go upstairs and get ready for bed in silence. Nothing stirs outside, either. They chose this neighborhood for its peaceful atmosphere. Tonight, the silence is like a cemetery's.

When they're in bed with the lights off, Aaron reaches for Eric and pulls him into his arms. They've worked side by side in a Gaza bunker while the shells rained down outside. They've seen guns and hacked off limbs and heard mothers cry for their dead babies. But never has a crisis seemed so final as the utter quiet outside their own bedroom window.

#

In the morning, the power is off. The main component of their breakfast is yogurt with berries from the freezer that are no longer frozen. Eric retrieves the wind-up radio from a backpack he's placed near the door. It holds all the essentials in case they need to abandon the house on foot. The only thing, on all the stations still operating, is the same automated message over and over, telling them to evacuate.

"Do you think they'll bomb the cities?" Eric asks. He's sitting at the breakfast bar, the radio in front of him. Aaron, who is peering out into the street through a gap in the kitchen blinds, shakes his head.

"No, I don't think they still can." Outside, their neighbors are busy loading their cars.

"We staying put," Eric says. It's not a question.

Aaron lets the blind snap back into place. He sits down on the other bar stool and leans his shoulder against Eric's. "Yeah, we are. For now."

They spend the day inspecting, cleaning and loading the guns that have been stashed away at the back of the closet until now. They're mostly Eric's dad, who was a farmer, but Aaron's grandpa's shotgun is there, too.

When they sit down to a dinner of the last of the cold cuts and bread that just about survived a day without refrigeration, the street is quiet again. Everyone who was going to go, has left.

#

During the night, the city burns. It is the sound of car alarms that wakes them. As they get dressed in their bedroom faintly illuminated by the orange glow from the fire that is slowly approaching, the smell of smoke becomes stronger. Eric, pale and tousled from sleep, pulls on a sweater over his shirt. Aaron, halfway through pulling on his boots, watches his lover with a heavy heart. Should they have left days ago? Has he been risking Eric's safety? They're both survivors, trained for crisis and used to emergencies. But Eric is still the younger, smaller of the two of them, and often, Aaron feels responsible.

Eric ends Aaron's self-doubting navel-gazing. He pushes the dresser closed with a sigh. "I'll miss our house," he says quietly. Then he glances at Aaron. "I'm glad we bought it. We were happy here, weren't we?"

Aaron gets up from the bed. "Very happy. Alright, let's get this show on the road." He walks past Eric and briefly puts his hand on his lover's neck. Without much talking they exit the house through the garage door, carrying the last couple of bags with supplies, and the baseball bat.

"Let me drive," Aaron says, and Eric hands him the key. Eric's Jeep is old, but it's in good nick and is by far the better vehicle for what lies ahead.

The remote control for the garage door is affixed to the dashboard. Eric presses it, and the garage door lifts slowly and almost noiselessly. The smell of burning grows stronger as the chilly night air floods the garage. Aaron glances at Eric, who looks stonily back at him.

"We'll be alright," Aaron says, for his own benefit as much as Eric's. He puts the car into D and slowly edges out of the garage. The street is quiet.

"You got the details for the evac camp?" Eric asks. He's busy with the sat nav. Aaron pulls a small piece of paper from his breast pocket. They wrote down the coordinates the automated message has been repeating on the radio. Eric enters the coordinates into the little machine. Aaron turns on the headlights and they're off, following the sat nav's directions, delivered in a gentle, female voice.

They drive the deserted back roads for most of the day. When the sun rises, they stop briefly to stretch their legs and make some coffee over a small camping cooker. The small rest area next to the road they chose for their break is deserted. All day, they meet no other moving vehicle on the narrow country lanes. The stillness of the landscape is eerie. Where is everyone?

When they come across bigger roads at intersections that question is at least part-way answered. The roads are often clogged; they see pile-ups, burning cars and long lines of shimmering metal snaking away into the distance. They managed to navigate the crossings without too much difficulty. Sometimes Aaron thinks he sees movement in some of the closer cars, but they don't stop to investigate. This feels outside their skill set, and without more information, and some intel into the rescue plans the military will have drawn up by now, Aaron isn't willing to risk their safety.

As they near the evac camp sometime in the late afternoon they see more and more abandoned vehicles by the roadside, and sometimes in the middle of the road. Navigating around the wrecks slows them down. They see no people, neither infected nor alive.

According to the sat nav, the camp is right over the next crest. Eric, who has been driving since lunchtime, points at the sky before them. "Aaron, look!" A greasy black plume of smoke rises lazily in the still air. A scratchy kind of stink is coming through the air vents on the dash.

"I see it," Aaron says. He twists in his seat and pulls the shotgun from the foot space behind him. "Go real slow," he adds.

They inch over the little hill. Not far away, by a wire mesh gate that hangs on its hinges, figures are shuffling down the road. Some are still smoldering, all are blackened by fire, or hideously disfigured. Before the power went out, when there were still news programs on TV, they had seen the walking corpses. This is quite different.

"My god," Eric breathes, his voice choked with horror and smoke. His hand is shaking as he puts the car in reverse.

They turn, and are soon speeding the way they've just come. For several miles they don't speak. Then, when the air no longer tastes of burning flesh, Aaron turns to Eric. "Stop the car."

Eric obliges, and they roll to a stop in the middle of the road. It's becoming hard to make out anything in the falling dusk, but Aaron stares at Eric, until his lover turns his face. His eyes are wide in terror. "What do we do now?" he asks, voice trembling.

Aaron rubs his face, thinking. "I met this woman, about a month ago. Her name's Deanna Monroe, she was a congresswoman, from Ohio. She and her husband were building themselves a house, in a gated project north of the city. Brand new development, sustainable, low footprint, the works. It's in the middle of the woods, and has a fence." He gives Eric a meaningful look. Eric nods slowly.

"You got coordinates? Or a name?"

Aaron reaches for the sat nav. "Yeah," he says. "It's called Alexandria."

It turns out that, from where they are and staying on the unclogged back roads, Alexandria is sixty miles away. They decide not to risk that drive in the dark. Instead, they retrace the route they've come to a farm house Aaron spotted earlier not far from the road.

"Look, there," Aaron points towards a barn next to the house. "Better not break into the house, even if it's empty. If someone else spots it, that's the first thing they'll go for. But if we can get into the barn, we can drive the car right inside and close the door behind us. Nobody'd know we're there."

The dark-red barn looks like it has a second story, with a large hay chute under the roof at the back. When they pull up outside night has just fallen properly.

They're in luck. The wide barn door is secured with an old-fashioned metal lock, which easily gives to the crowbar Eric produces from the depth of the Jeep's storage space.

Inside, the barn has a large downstairs, and a gallery running around the second floor. At the back, the gallery juts out much wider, covering about a quarter of the barn. That might've once been a hay loft, or a space to store grain.

They hurry back into the Jeep, and drive it right into the almost empty barn. Apart from some rusty machinery in the back the floor is clear and very clean. Aaron gets the impression that not much farming has gone on here in recent years.

They turn the engine off and slide the barn door closed. Eric clicks on a flashlight. With a sense of relief Aaron secures the inner bolts which look sturdy. As long as they're quiet nothing and nobody will know they're in here.

"What now?" Eric's voice sounds loud in the silent gloom.

Aaron looks up the steep stairs to the gallery. "We'll make camp, up there."

He makes for the stairs, but Eric says, "Hold on." He goes to the car again and returns a moment later with the shotgun and a pistol. He hands the latter to Aaron.

"Good thinking," Aaron says.

They ascend the stairs together and approach the hay loft. It turns out to be almost completely empty. A broom and a bucket, and a few empty grain sacks neatly folded in a corner, is everything they find.

"Pity," Eric murmurs.

Aaron turns around to him. "What's that?" Eric, still looking pale but a bit more relaxed, grins impishly.

"I'd sort of hoped to enact an old fantasy of mine," he says, his voice suddenly low and smooth. "I've always wanted to be ravaged in a pile of hay."

Aaron laughs softly. "I can do nothing about the lack of hay. As for the rest…" He retrieves their steps and as he passes Eric he quickly squeezes his lover's butt. "C'mon."

They lug the gear – sleeping bags, camping mats, gas cooker, storm lamp, canned food, water, blankets, weapons – up onto the gallery and start setting up near the stairs. If necessary, they can get to the car quickly, but somehow being elevated feels safer. While Aaron starts setting up camp, Eric walks the perimeter of the gallery again, checking for gaps through which the light from their lamp could be spotted from the outside. He finds none.

They heat canned chicken soup, adding sweetcorn and eating the last of the store-bought bread they brought along. After a day of energy bars and increasingly stale coffee from their thermos the hot food feels good. Aaron sighs and leans back when he's finished his portion. With the soft glow from the storm lamp, this is almost cozy.

And now that they're fed and watered, other desires make themselves known. "Where do we go to pee?" Aaron asks.

Eric chuckles. "There was that bucket, in the hay loft," he says. "But number two can maybe wait until we get outside in the morning."

"I daresay it can," Aaron agrees. He gets up and heads towards the loft.

When he comes back Eric has stacked the dirty dishes near the stairs. "I think I saw a pump outside," he says. "If it's not merely ornamental we can wash up tomorrow." He sits back on his haunches and suddenly looks worried. With their most immediate needs taken care of, the reality seems to finally hit. "What's gonna happen to us, Aaron? To everyone?" His voice is very small, and his eyes shine with sudden tears. Aaron crouches down before him and takes his hands. Stroking Eric's fingers gently with his thumbs he says, "Tomorrow, we'll drive to Alexandria, and we'll get behind those gates, and we'll wait this out." He holds Eric's gaze. "There'll be other people there, good people. We'll do what we always do. We help where we can, and we take care of each other." He smiles, trying to instill a confidence in his lover he's struggling to feel himself. "You always keep me safe. You got the provisions, you packed the Jeep. All I managed to do is lose my damn car."

Eric nods slowly, and gives a lopsided grin. "Yeah, you did," he says. "Aaron?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

Aaron's eyes fill with tears now too. "I love you too, babe."

"Hush, now," Eric whispers. "No tears." He gets to his knees and kisses Aaron.

They make quick work of sweaters and shirts. Aaron lets his hands glide up Eric's sides, pushing his T-shirt up. Eric moans into his mouth. Then Aaron fumbles with Eric's pants buttons, reaches right inside his pants and strokes his growing erection, until Eric shudders and gasps.

"Lie down," Aaron whispers. Eric obliges, stretching out on their make-shift bed. Aaron gets to his feet, unbuckling his belt.

Eric's eyes, alight with desire, stay with him as Aaron undresses. "There's lube in the small black bag." He points at their luggage sitting nearby, then lifts his hips and pushes his pants and boxer shorts down.

"You really thought of everything, huh?" Aaron grins. "Man, I've got the best boyfriend."

Eric grins and settles down on top of the sleeping bags, stroking his erection against his ginger treasure trail, while Aaron finishes undressing and gets the lube. He returns to Eric, who spreads his legs. Aaron lowers himself slowly between Eric's smooth thighs. He squeezes some lube onto his fingers, then lets his gaze travel over Eric's body, stretched out before him.

Aaron loves looking at his lover's naked form. His slimness makes him appear so vulnerable, even fragile. His pale skin, freckled all the way down to his belly, makes him look ten years younger than thirty-two. But Aaron knows better. Eric isn't fragile, and he doesn't really need protecting. He's smart and quick, and his body is surprisingly powerful. The upper arms, which Aaron can almost close his fingers around, are firm with a layer of muscle honed while working on his dad's farm. His slender body supports enough strength to make him tireless, like a marathon runner. He's usually the last one standing, knowing his limits and how to stretch them. And he's quick.

And so beautiful, it brings a lump to Aaron's throat. He leans down, and in one practiced, familiar motion, lifts Eric's leg up and onto his shoulder. Then he moves into place, the tip of his erection pressing against Eric's opening. Eric's breath hitches, then he shifts a little. Finally, he nods that it's okay, and Aaron can continue.

They're familiar with each other, and Aaron takes great comfort from it. They're safe, and they've got each other, that's all that counts right now.

Eric, a pink color rising on his chest and neck, sighs, and his hand stroking his erection picks up speed. Aaron tilts his hips, until he's hitting Eric's sweet spot. He's so close, and Eric, lips parted slightly, head arched back, is nearly there.

"Come for me, babe," Aaron whispers, and Eric climaxes with a cry and a gasp, the familiar sounds tipping Aaron over the edge. He goes down on his elbows, hiding his face against Eric's shoulder as they ride the wave.

They clean up in silence, then put their clothes back on. Fully dressed, they curl up together under a tangle of blankets and sleeping bags. Eric falls asleep quickly, his head heavy on Aaron's shoulder, his breaths deep and even. But Aaron lies awake for a long time, listening to the silence of this unfamiliar place, imagining the horrors of their new world.

#

They're awake early next morning. Without speaking much, they brew coffee on the camping stove. They sip it while eating Eric's oatmeal bars. Then they pack up the car.

Aaron slowly pushes open the barn door. Outside, everything is quiet, almost eerily so. The pump Eric saw the night before does indeed work, and they wash their camping dishes and freshen up a bit.

They open the barn door wider, get into the car and drive off. About halfway to Alexandria, according to the sat nav which thankfully still works, they come across their first bit of nightmare. There's a pile-up in the middle of an intersection. Two cars are standing haphazardly, still smoking and leaking fuel. Around one of the cars, a huddle of undead has formed. This is the closest they have come to any of them so far. The corpses seem agitated, pounding on the already cracked glass on the passenger side.

"Aaron!" Eric sits up straight in the passenger seat.

"Yeah," Aaron says, bringing the car to a standstill nearby. Eric is scrabbling with the seatbelt, but when he's about to open the door, the glass on the car in the intersection gives way under the fists of the dead monsters. Aaron reaches out for Eric, and holds him back. "No, Eric."

They can't see everything, there are too many dead bodies. But they can hear the scream when one of the monsters closes its teeth on the arm of a small girl he's half pulled through the window. The child screams again.

"It's too late," Aaron whispers. Beside him, Eric sits frozen in horror.

"But…we…it's just a little kid…we gotta do something," he stammers.

Aaron feels sick. "It's too late, Eric. She's dead."

He accelerates again, giving the wreckage a wide berth. The tires skid in the gravel by the side of the road. A few corpses straighten up, looking for the source of the noise, but before they can take more than a couple of staggering steps the car is speeding away.

Eric twists in his seat, looking behind them until they round a bend in the road and the intersection disappears from view. He turns back to the front and stares straight ahead, his hands balled in his lap. "We should've helped," he whispers, but without much conviction. There are tears in his eyes.

Aaron reaches out and squeezes Eric's thigh. He can feel his lover tremble. "I won't risk your life, babe," he says quietly. "Not for a fool's errand." He pauses, then says again, "I won't risk your life."

Eric takes Aaron's hand from his leg and holds it tightly in both of his. They don't speak again, only drive in silence. Aaron blinks away the tears that are obscuring his vision.

The sun is high in the sky when the sat nav indicates their arrival at Alexandria. Aaron stops the car outside a tall metal gate that spans across the road. They can see half-finished walls of the same material stretching away in both directions. In the distance, people are working on the wall. A couple have spotted them now, and come hurrying over.

Aaron catches Eric's gaze. He reaches out and strokes his lover's face. "Whatever it'll take, babe," he says, his voice rough. "I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe."


End file.
